It's Not That Great

Blog, I've been MIA for the latter half of April. I'm aware of this. I'm also aware of my reverting to the typical blogger tendency to acknowledge a rather lengthy absence. Luckily I had four posts in April. That's keeping up with my average, I do believe. I just got all of it out of the way during the first week of the month.

Ok. Enough with the posting about how I haven't posting. That's no fun to read.

Tonight I realized I could make my life sound fucking awesome if I wanted to. I have a cushy office job that pays me pretty well for the work I do and has regular hours. I love the people I spend my 40 hours a week with; they both challenge me and make me laugh every single day. I have this really great second job that not only brings in extra cash, but also is a gateway to free theater and fun parties with food and wine and chocolates and actors and crew and paper lanterns lighting up warm spring nights on a city balcony.

I have a quaint little apartment that has french windows decorated with paisley curtains. There's a fireplace filled with books and a gallery of friends' art on my walls. I have a cabinet stocked with wine and a fridge stocked with food. I take the train to visit my brother. I always have music in my ears. I can sing and play the guitar. I find myself sporadically going on auditions or performing in front of paying audiences. I'm asked to be a part of films here and there and every once in awhile I'll see someone I know on TV.

I live walking distance from a plethora of bars, restaurants and theaters; not to mention a grocery store. Half a block from the bus stop. Half a mile from a lake surrounded by multi-million dollar homes. I can walk down the street and not be surprised in the least to run into someone I know from some circle I'm a part of.

I'm like fucking Carrie Bradshaw sometimes with how I sip wine and sit in front of my computer in nothing but a towel, fresh out of the shower; save my image from riding around on the side of a bus all day long.

I've settled in the suburbs with a two car garage, dog, and fenced in yard. I've traipsed around the bars lending my mouth to any boy who was accepting of my drunken offers. I've gone on dates where doors were held and chairs were pulled out. Checks were taken care of and checks were split. I've been nervous, confident, cocky, and disinterested. I've felt beautiful more than I've felt unattractive and I think my wardrobe is alright; maybe even slightly above the fashionable average on a good day.

Sometimes I'll get into a routine where I do yoga and run on a regular basis. Other times I'll pass my evenings trying new recipes or eating ice cream while perusing the internet. I have close friends who are far away and because of this I'm starting to need my toes when it comes to keeping track of how many times I've flown across the Atlantic. My passport is filled with stamps from Europe and Mexico. I've been to Canada and both coasts. I've seen the northern lights and a meteor shower and the Swiss Alps...

Twenty four hours from now I'll be on yet another flight hanging over the Atlantic, preparing to land in a new country for me; Portugal. More accurately, the Portuguese islands known as The Azores. I've somehow managed to travel more than I ever thought I would. Make more money than I ever thought I would. Know more talented, amazing, inspiring people than I ever thought I would. I have a cute apartment, good health, and a glass of wine right in front of me. My bags are packed and I'm ready to get yet another stamp in that passport I got at a time when the only place I had ever been outside of the US was Canada.

And here I am barely holding in the tears because despite all of that "cool" shit I've just listed, at the end of the day I come home to an empty apartment and no one to share myself with. Reading through the self-involved vomit I've just spilled to you Blog makes me realize I'm an alright gal. I'm a catch. I've got a lot going for me. But that good feeling goes away when I know that those friends of mine have someone they love by their side every night. They have valid relationships and it makes me just want to throw all the parties and circles and performances and travel to the side because it's not important. It doesn't matter. It's just busy work until someone meaningful comes along.

The twelve year-old me would be blown away by who I've become. Sixth grade Samantha wanted nothing more than to travel and work in a skyscraper and live in a city doing important business with important people. Well Little Samantha, what you didn't know was that laying low and having a meaningful relationship with someone could have been just as, if not more fulfilling.

Of course, there's always the potential of a stay at home mom or settled down wife coming across this post and thinking that this life I lead is a fabulous one. You always want what you can't have, I guess.

To Portugal then.

You Wish This Was Part Three, Don't You

Ok Blog, I'm done with the Craig's List ads. I promise. First of all, your formatting gets all weird when I try copying and pasting the numerous responses from my old hotmail account. Secondly, there is part of me that feels violated by all the email I've received over the past couple days regarding vomit and desires of getting to know me. Thirdly, there is guilt a-brewing for not responding to any of the various suitors who came a-knocking at my internet door. I understand I have entirely put myself in this situation (especially with the vomit part) so I will take responsibility and no longer complain. It was a good experiment to have play out. It also gave me a fun thing to blog about. But I can't do it anymore. I. Just. Can't.

I will continue on in a self-focused fashion and will allow whatever happens to happen.

With that, I ordered a case for my phone last week and it finally came in the mail today. It is beautiful and for some reason makes me ridiculously happy. I'm not sure why I'm so elated about it. It might have something to do with the fact that my main motivation for getting an iPhone was so that I could cover it up with fun art. And as we all know, sea life and rainbows are amazing; hence my opting to decorate my mobile device with a colorful squid.

I also started a Twitter account and have no idea how it works or what the point of it is. Since I'm totally in the dark about the whole thing, that's all I really have to say about it.

I had a million other things I wanted to mention here Blog, but now that I'm sat down with my glass of wine and Triple J playing in the background, I for the life of me can't remember what any of those things were. I know I wanted to embed this song I can't stop listening to on repeat. I love me a catchy beat and close harmonies:

I guess I could mention that I'm going to the Azores in a couple months. But it's a bit far off and I haven't even purchased all the airfare necessary for the trip yet, so it's something that I'm not really into writing about at the moment. I like writing about the here and now, Blog. Unfortunately, it turns out that nothing is happening here nor now.

I suppose this lack of zest for articulating anything that's going on with me is a sign that I need to go to bed. I've spent the last two nights up way too late blogging about strangers trying too hard to catch my eye via email. It is time to accept the bad taste that has been left in my mouth by the entire experience and retire to my chamber that is also my living room and kitchen and study. Oh the joys of studio living...

Either This is a Masterpiece, Or an Embarrassment

Not to get all philosophical on you Blog, but if the pen is mightier than the sword, why do actions speak louder than words? And even after that, a picture of the whole ordeal is worth a thousand of them.

Visuals: 2
Literature: 1

And this is why I need to take up photography and turn you into a wedding blog, Blog.

Oh come on. I'm kidding, I'm kidding! You and I both know that I'd much rather get drunk and ramble incessantly with you rather than capture the ridiculous dedication of eternal love with unfocused backgrounds and agreeable outdoor lighting.

What's that? I've become cynical? Blog. It's not like you to be so vocal about what I share with you. What gives?

Oh I see. I created you and now you've become an entity that has developed an opinion and feelings that are reflective of my own yet independently formed. How like Frankenstein. Well, at least you have an aesthetic color palette and aren't made of a cadaver...

 Now that we have that inevitable exchange behind us... where was I?

Oh yes. Philosophical ponderings. Did you know that I don't even really know what the word philosophical means? Oh the honesty I have with you, Blog. It is second to none.

You didn't know either? Well, that's not surprising. I mean, you are an extension of myself. We aren't that different, you and I.

Anyway, I never took any philosophy courses and therefore have never given the subject much formal thought until now. Upon gazing at the word, I've had the revelation that it probably means something like "for the love of Sophocles" or "Gee, I sure do dig everything Sophocles had to say".

Too bad I don't remember what Sophocles had to say. I do know, however, that he taught Plato, who taught Alexander the Great. Why do I know that? Acronyms, Blog. If there is doubt whence studying history; acronyms. "Spa" wasn't just my business idea for my 11th grade Agribusiness class. (And yes, if you gaze upon the word agribusiness for long enough, I'm sure you'll figure out what it means)

Wow. I am tangent city tonight. Now I feel like gotten too far off track to write about the impact that the type of music I listened to as a teenager has had on my current state of affairs.

Fuck it. I'm going there anyway.

I had the revelation the other day that the type of music I listened to during my coming-of-age years has formed my thoughts and feelings on my approach to the idea of romantic love. Or so I initially thought.

That's it. I'm creating some case studies, yo.


Case Study: Kerin the Bostonian

Though Kerin is one of my very best friends and we share many things in common, one thing that differentiates us (besides our seemingly opposite upbringings) is the music we listen to. Kerin is a hip hop gal. She's from the mean streets of Boston. She's agile in the arena of pop culture and appreciates the mainstream. This means she listened to the Backstreet Boys when she was a teenager. This means she lived, breathed, and probably somehow ate lyrics like "You can save me from the man that I've become" and "No matter the distance, I want you to know, that deep down inside of me... You are my fire, the one desire..."

As a result, Kerin has a romantic sense about her. She is confident in the ideas of fate and destiny. Instances and experiences that some may find sappy, she sees as sentimental and revealing to the existence of true love and the idea that it is meant to be. Yeah, I know this makes Kerin sound like a hopeless romantic. But on the contrary she's quite the opposite. She's an incredibly hopeful romantic; and we have Howie Dorough to thank for that.


Case Study: Little Samantha on the Prairie

Like I mentioned in the previous case study that I have created for illustrative purposes, even though Kerin and I have many things in common, we differ in our upbringings and tastes in music. While she was hip hopping on the mean streets of Boston, Little Samantha was naively exploring what the flower children of the 60's had to offer the generation that had given birth to her. In other words, I was a hipster before being a hipster was a thing.

For the record, being a hipster before being a hipster was a thing cancels out the idea of hipsterdom (which is being into something before it becomes mainstream). Therefore, I was never really a hipster to begin with.

Or was I?

I digress. As a result of this naive exploration, I found myself engrossed in Joni Mitchell. I lived, breathed, and probably fueled my car with lyrics like "You leave 'em laughing when you go, and if you care don't let them know" and "Everything comes and goes. Pleasure moves on too early and trouble leaves too slow."

Of course I'd be into someone who is poetically rooted in realism. And there was no context for these ideas for a timid 15 year old in Steele County, North Dakota. I was a lost cause from the start. The cynicism didn't start with my earlier comment about wedding photography, Blog. It started with Blue in 1999.

As a result, I am jaded in the eyes of romance.

Just when I thought I had it all figured out, another friend of mine, Trisha, mentioned in response to this whole idea of adolescent music habits contributing to adult relationship trends that the music didn't choose me. I chose the music. And she is right. I had my radio tuned to Y-94 out of Fargo in those days. I was totally familiar with I Want it That Way and yet I chose to flip my Court and Spark cassette multiple times a night just like Kerin chose to make it a priority to liken the Backstreet Boys to that of an infallible deity. The music didn't choose us, we chose the music. Our hormones just made us think we weren't in a place to take responsibility for our actions.

Damn you puberty!

And here's where I'm going to bring this ramble back, Blog. I bet you didn't see it coming, but it's going to happen.

Though Joni's words speak volumes to me, I am the one who has acted upon pursuing them for inspiration. Just like Kerin opted to follow those boys from the back streets in a response to the emotions that overtake any teenager when they finally realize that, hey! Sexual attraction is a thing!

Visuals: 3
Literature: 1

The score is settled... for now.

Also, I've finally wikipedia-ed all the Greek philosopher stuff I was going on about earlier. Turns out, with my logic, philosophical might as very well mean "I'm a huge fan of Antigone". Acronyms don't work quite as well when Socrates and Sophacles start with the same letter...

Blog, after they legalize gay marriage, I hope they legalize blog marriage. I fear you're the only one who truly gets me to a point where I could ridiculously dedicate my love to you in front of a focused camera in agreeable outdoor lighting.

One Year Makes All the Difference

One year ago today my life was turned upside down with a six word sentence. At the time I thought it was the end of everything I knew, loved and cared about in the world. And in a way it was for certain things. But now, one year later, I realize that that sentence wasn't an ending, but the beginning of one of the most interesting years of my life. A portal was opened with those words and it has opened other portals and avenues that I never even thought possible for me to experience and know. I solidified friendships new and old, traveled to Europe, obtained a sister in law, met my niece, wrote more than I've written in a long time and developed a penchant for wine that I fear will never die. Here I sit one year later, at the same desk I numbly sat at with tears filling my eyes, and now I know that I can't let myself be afraid of a little sentence that simply states:

"I think we should break up."

It could mean that the most wonderful and interesting year yet is just at its beginning.

Hate and Love

Blog, I haven't bought peanut butter in a year. That's a long time for someone who used to live off of peanut butter sandwiches. Ooh, and even better, grilled peanut butter sandwiches. It's like a grilled cheese, but with peanut butter. Try it sometime. It'll blow your internet mind. I promise.

Why haven't I bought peanut butter? I don't know, Blog. I don't know. I think it's just that I kept forgetting for some reason. And then I forgot enough to where I don't even think about it anymore. I might have at first regretted my forgetfulness once I returned home with no peanut butter in hand after a trip to the grocery store, but now it's gotten to the point where it's not even part of my life anymore. It's really sad to think about since peanut butter and I used to have such a strong and involved relationship. What's more is that I had a taste of peanut butter over the weekend and now my palate has been reminded of the glory it holds within its sticky substance. Blog, I must break this strange and accidental habit I've acquired over the course of 2011 and buy some goddamned peanut butter. It's time.

In other news, here are some things that I hate and love...

I hate parallel parked cars that don't understand how much space they are taking up. Either you get your ass flush with that yellow line, or you go elsewhere. I understand you want some wiggle room between yourself and your parallel parked car neighbors, but five feet is too much. If you can fit two of you in the space you've so selfishly taken for yourself, then I think I should be allowed to attempt to violently park my boat of a car in the half a space you've so graciously left me in order to give you an updated lesson in parallel parking etiquette.

I hate that band The Decemberists. I don't like how their music sounds and I don't like the lead singer's voice. What don't I like about their music? I don't know. Those melodies rub me the wrong way. I find them boring, predictable, and sickening. That guy's voice is whiny and annoying. Enough said.

I hate the band The Hold Steady for many of the reasons I stated above for hating The Decemberists. Boring melodies, don't like that lead singer's voice. Most of all? Stop rhyming so much. Just. Stop. I can't handle rhyming for the sake of rhyming, unless it's a clever sonnet or something. But The Hold Steady isn't made up of clever sonnets. It's made up of a dude yelling rhymes into a microphone with a boring guitar riff playing in the background.

I hate being super hungover, like I was yesterday. I also hate shots of jag and gin and tonics combined with copious amounts of wine. This may or may not be related to why I hate being hungover. It's hard to tell since memories of Saturday night are fuzzy. All I know is that feeling like someone is drilling into the left side of your head is not the best way to spend a Sunday. Also, falling down on your way home from the bar might be a sign that it's time to stop with the alcohol intake. Just a thought.

I hate that the person who's clothes are taking up both dryers downstairs doesn't have a proper concept of  time. Your shit's been dry for 45 minutes sir/madam. Make the trek down to the basement to gather your garments so I can dry mine. Lord knows the moment I go down there and remove those clothes myself, you're going to enter into that chilly dungeon of a laundry room and things are going to get real awkward real fast.

But you know what?

I love how it smells down there right now. Though you are pokey with your laundry pick up, I'm curious as to what detergent you're using. It smells magnificent and if I could make my wardrobe carry that scent all my troubles would come to an end, I am certain of it.

I love being really hungry and knowing exactly what I want to eat. Tonight it was macaroni and cheese. The craving actually started last night when I for some reason found myself mesmerized by this ridiculousness:

Three quarters of a box of mac and cheese later, I'm pleasantly stuffed. But what I love even more than eating mac and cheese when it's all I want in the whole wide world, is washing each bite down with a sip of cold milk. Oh the dairy! The dairy of it all!! Thank you cows. You are my favorite kind of livestock right now.

I love calling lunch dinner and dinner supper. It brings me back to the days of eating gravy bread at the kitchen table and fruit cocktail for dessert all while silently judging my brother who wouldn't wash his dinner (or supper for that matter) down with a glass of milk but instead drank boring tap water that ended up giving us all giardia. Reason number 1,583 why milk is way better than any other beverage (besides wine) ever in the world.

I loved Saturday night up until I got so drunk I couldn't form thoughts in my mind. That was most of the night for the record. To be a part of such a great group of people and have my spot there with everyone was a really great and entirely new experience for me. Everyone had their person, and everyone had each other. The guys had the guys, the girls had the girls and we all loved each other at the end. Of course, then Jon bought me that shot of jag and things were downhill from there. But up until that moment: magic.

I love this song on the radio right now. Of course I have no idea what the song is or who sings it, but I like it because it is interesting for me to listen to. The word "naked" is part of the lyrics. There is sycopation going on. An overarching melody is happening in the chorus. Sing it mystery band. All in all, the tune reminds me of some of the metal bands my college boyfriend and I would listen to as we drove the strip in Bemidji for hours and hours on end during our freshman year just so we could get some alone time with one another, though this song isn't quite metal. Also now that I'm an adult, I don't need to take refuge in a 1992 Ford Explorer for some solitude. I like, Blog. I like. No, love.

Oh, and we mustn't forget. I love this guy. I love this guy on his buffalo:

Solitary Beach Time

Blog, there's something incredibly lonely about going to the beach by yourself. When you go, you see that most everyone else is at the beach with groups of friends or significant others. Beach by yourself means you lay there alone, reading, eavesdropping, and dipping into the water of your own means. It's wonderful.

Today is a perfect beach day and I have no one accompany me on my walk down to the water. I've run some errands and now I'm going to head down by myself. I'm going to bring a book, a notebook, my ipod and some alcohol. I'm going to lay out in the sun in my bathing suit this summer for the first time and enjoy the sun, reflect on my weird life, and soak in the fact that I (more than likely) am the only one there by myself, and only myself.

I have people in this life who love me with all their heart. Sadly, none of them are able to go to the beach with me today. But knowing that they are out there, living their own lives and allowing me to be a part of them is a great thing to remember when you find yourself at the beach alone.